


I Dream of Molly

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Masturbation, it's for science, naughty molly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:38:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 16,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2234349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly arrives at 221B one day to find that Sherlock isn't home, and her curiosity gets the best of her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theandiepants](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theandiepants/gifts).



> So theandiepants pointed out that I'd never posted this story here, and since it's my first, and favorite thing I've ever written, I decided to fix that!

Molly sat in the cab, holding the small cooler on her lap. She watched the nighttime lights of London go by. This was a new low, even for Sherlock. When he needed body parts he usually at least came and got them himself! 

She scoffed at her own line of thinking, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. She might have been frustrated with Sherlock’s curt text “If you have any extra toes, I could use some. Please bring them to Baker Street if convenient. If inconvenient, bring them anyway, I need them”, but of course she had packed them up in some ice, and after her shift, caught a cab to Baker Street. Of course she did.

Sherlock had been back from the dead for a year now. John and Mary and little baby Amanda lived in domestic bliss. John still helped Sherlock on cases when he could, although he continued to practice medicine. Molly was very glad Mary and John had fixed whatever marital problems had plagued most of her pregnancy. They hadn’t felt the need to share it with her, and she was too polite to ask.

And Sherlock continued to be Sherlock. Beautiful, maddening, Sherlock. She’d called off her engagement to Tom once he returned to London. She couldn’t deny that her heart was elsewhere. It was easy to forget him during the two years he was gone - she had no reason to believe he’d ever come back, and she wasn’t getting any younger.

But watching him at John and Mary’s wedding, she’d known. She’d known that she wasn’t over him, and while she would never have him, it wasn’t fair to marry another man when he still held her heart so tightly. A gift he’d never appreciate. 

Sighing, she paid the cab driver and rang the bell of 221B. After she received no response, she rang it again. The door opened, and Mrs. Hudson peered out at her. “Oh, hello Molly! Sherlock isn’t home, he left in quite a hurry about ten minutes ago.”

Molly closed her eyes for a moment, sighing. “Do you mind if I wait upstairs for him? He asked me to bring this.” she indicated the cooler.

Mrs. Hudson looked at it. “Oh, dear. I don’t want to know. Go on up, dear, I’m sure he won’t mind.”

Molly smiled at Mrs. Hudson and made her way up the stairs, pushing open the door to Sherlock’s flat. She set the cooler down on the kitchen table and pulled out her phone to text Sherlock. “I’m at Baker Street, are you coming back anytime soon?”

She stood looking out the big windows of the flat until she heard her phone ping with a new message. “No, caught a lead. Leave the toes, I’ll be gone awhile. SH”

Molly rolled her eyes and went to the cooler, taking them out of the ice and putting them in the freezer. She found a piece of paper and scribbled “Toes in freezer - Molly.” on it, and set it under the skull on the mantle, where she knew he’d see it. She went back into the kitchen to pick up her cooler, and glanced down the hallway toward Sherlock’s bedroom. The door was open.

Letting curiosity get the better of her, Molly found herself drifting down the hallway, past the bath, to the door of Sherlock’s bedroom. She peered in. It was a lot nicer than she expected, given the state of the rest of the flat. It was picked up, and mostly clean, although his wardrobe door was open and there were a few shirts tossed over the top of the door. The bed was rumpled, but the sheets looked clean.

And expensive. Molly stepped into the room, reaching a hand out to touch the sheets and fluffy duvet cover. Oh, she was right. These were very fine sheets indeed.

Giggling, she sat down on the edge of the bed. Sherlock’s bed. She felt so naughty being in here, she knew she shouldn’t snoop. She ran her hands along the sheets again, marveling at how soft they were. She knew Sherlock’s clients paid him; apparently they paid him well. She could never afford anything this nice.

She glanced out the open door again, and couldn’t help herself. She ran a finger lightly over her chest, stopping to rub her fingers over her left nipple. She shivered a bit, partly from the pleasure of the touch, but mostly for the idea of feeling this pleasure in Sherlock’s bed.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket again. He said he’d be gone awhile. How long was that? In Sherlock time, that could be days. Her hand drifted down to her breast again, and she slipped out of her shoes, laying back across the bed.

She slid her right hand up under her shirt, thumbing over her nipple with a little more force this time. Pulling the cups down under her breasts, she pinched at the nipple, smiling and sighing as she relaxed more into the cloud-like surface of Sherlock’s bed. Who knew he prefered such a soft bed? She had pictured something more utilitarian for the enigmatic consulting detective.

After a few moments she glanced toward the door again, and unbuttoned her trousers. She lifted her hips a bit, sliding them just past her bottom, along with her pants. Grinning, she slid one finger between her folds, seeking out the center of the hot passion that was quickly consuming her. In Sherlock’s bed. The naughtiness spurred her on further, and she made quick work of her orgasm, biting the back of her left hand to keep herself from making any noise Mrs. Hudson might hear. Once she finished she quickly slid her trousers back on, slipped back into her shoes, and made her way down to the door of Mrs. Hudson’s flat.

“Mrs. Hudson!” she called out, “Looks like he’s going to be gone awhile. I left the package for him, I’m heading home! Thanks for letting me in!” She quickly turned and left, before Mrs. Hudson could come to the door. She wasn’t sure she could face her.

She grinned the whole way home, however.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock returned later that evening. After removing his Belstaff and his scarf, he saw Molly’s note tucked under Billy, and smiled. Peering into the freezer, he pulled the toes out and put them in the fridge to thaw. He would need them pliable for his experiment.

He hadn’t solved his case yet, however, so the toes would have to wait. He pulled out his violin and played for a bit, and then sat in his chair, fingers steepled under his chin, while he sorted away all of the clues and information from today into his mind palace.

Eventually, he decided to go change into his dressing gown and pajamas. He made his way down the hall, but stopped short as he entered his room.

His room smelled wrong. Why did his room smell a way it had never smelled before? He stood there for a few minutes, deducing what it was he smelled. It smelled like… Molly? Molly had been in the flat many times, but that was a scent he had never experienced in his bedroom.

He made his way over to his wardrobe and changed. He decided to lay down a bit to think further on the current case. He slid into the bed, on top of the covers. And froze again.

The Molly-scent of the bedroom was even stronger on the bed. Curious. He rolled over and sniffed at the sheets. Molly had been in his bed and…

...she’d had an orgasm. In his bed. He could smell the faint scent of a woman on the sheets, and he couldn’t imagine any other women had set foot in Baker Street since the last time Mary was there, and it was HIGHLY unlikely that Mary had had a go in his bed. Or Mrs. Hudson, for that matter.

Sherlock was surprised at how ...intoxicating the idea was. Mousey Molly Hooper had done something bold, very bold indeed. He knew she fancied him - anyone who knew the two of them knew she fancied him. He had filed away the information and yes, he had used it to his advantage more than once. Her feelings about him were misdirected and ill-advised. He didn’t believe in love, and sex? Sex was a distraction, a base desire for lesser people. 

And yet. He remained, curled on his side, drinking in the fading scent of Molly’s sex. He had never even thought about what her arousal would smell like. It was superfluous information, unnecessary data. Much like when she’d said that she and Tom were having quite a lot of sex. This did not mean anything to him.

And yet he remained, his nose against the sheets as he told himself that while the fact that she had ..pleasured herself? He couldn’t imagine she’d brought anyone to his flat WITH her … in his bed was curious, it didn’t matter.

And yet. 

And yet.

Sherlock did very little thinking about his case for the rest of the night, until long after the scent of Molly had faded from his sheets, from his room, from his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock didn’t forget about Molly’s little adventure, though. He wrapped up the case the next day, and spent most of that evenings sorting out his feelings about her actions. Did pleasuring herself in his bed add to her pleasure? He wasn’t there, what difference would the surface make? Self-pleasure was something that Sherlock occasionally allowed himself, mostly when the urge to do so had become so overwhelming he mostly did it so that he wouldn’t want to do it anymore. Base. Primal. Something for lesser people. He always felt ashamed afterwards, as if he had been weak.

Clearly, Molly enjoyed it. She had enjoyed it in his room. On his bed. He found himself very curious about that. Would he enjoy it more on Molly’s bed? He didn’t fancy Molly, not like she fancied him. He didn’t fancy anyone. It would distract him from his work.

He had to admit, however, that this little mystery was distracting him. From his work. He hadn’t even checked his email for a new case once he wrapped up the other, he had been focused on understanding Molly’s actions. 

As he laid in bed that night (case closed, he could sleep. He’d even eaten the dinner Mrs. Hudson had brought up to him) he found his hand drifting down to the waistband of his pajama pants. Scolding himself, he’d stopped before he did anything, but the idea was planted in his head and he knew it was just a matter of time before he gave in to it again. Wanting to touch himself was annoying at the best of times, but now Molly Hooper was all tangled up in it and this was very discomforting. He did not fancy Molly Hooper. He did not think about Molly Hooper Like That. 

And yet.

The next morning he found himself out walking. He had no case (because you haven’t looked for one, Sherlock) he reminded himself. Suddenly he realized where he’d ended up. Outside Molly Hooper’s flat.

He paced around outside it for a while. He knew she was at work, he knew her work schedule almost better than she did - how else would he know when he could go beg body parts from her - and he knew her flat was empty.

Up the three steps to the landing, the outer door lock gave in to his lockpicking skills fast enough that anyone walking by would have assumed he’d used a key. Molly Hooper, your building security is abysmal, he thought.

Up the stairs to her flat, and he was in that door even faster. He really must find a way to talk to Molly about her security. Anyone could wander in.

Which is what he did, quickly closing the door behind him. Her flat was tidy, and rather plain for a pathologist who preferred garish clothing and clashing colors. Toby, her cat, stuck his head out of the bedroom and hissed once, before retreating. 

He made his way into the bedroom and looked at the bed. It was unmade, and rumpled. A stack of romance novels were piled on the bedside table. He sat down on the edge, smelling the room. It smelled like Molly, and he noted that this was a pleasurable sensation. Comforting.

He slipped off his shoes and laid down on the bed. The scent of Molly was all around him, and it was dizzying. He’d been around Molly before. He’d kissed her cheek, twice. She slapped him. He was not sure why her scent was having such an effect on him this time.

He didn’t even notice he’d unbuttoned his trousers until he felt his cool fingers on his warm cock. He snatched his hand back out of his trousers, but then let it go back again. It would be an experiment, he decided. Would pleasuring himself in Molly’s bed change how he felt about it? Would it be better? He suspected Molly had no shame about pleasuring herself, so what did she gain from doing it alone in his bed?

An experiment. That’s all. That made it okay to grip his cock and slowly start sliding his hand along it, sliding back his foreskin and rubbing a thumb over the already-wet tip. His other hand found it’s way up under his shirt, grazing his nipples. His breath caught, and he let himself tip over into that place he rarely let himself go.

The scent of Molly and Molly’s room filled his nostrils, as his mind filled with images of Molly. It was as if his mind palace had put on a slideshow for him. He idly wondered why this had never happened before, and filed that away as data for his experiment. Molly in her dress at the Christmas party - no, that was unpleasant, he had hurt her feelings. Molly in the morgue, strong, confident Molly talking about autopsy results. Smart, beautiful..

Beautiful? He paused for a moment, filing THAT bit of data away, and went back to concentrating on the matter at hand, as it were. But within moments, all he could see in his mind’s eye was Molly again. Molly helping him solve a crime, all that time ago. Molly’s eyes crinkling up as she laughed when he’d tagged along at the pub with John and Molly and Mike Stamford. Molly, Molly, Molly…

And then it was done, and he glanced down at the puddle on his abdomen. Well. Interesting. He grabbed a few tissues from her nightstand and cleaned himself up as best he could, shoving the used tissues into his pocket, buttoning his trousers back up, gathering his shoes, his coat, making sure her door was locked on the way out.

Upon returning to 221B he immediately sat in his chair and went into his mind palace, sorting out all of this new confusing information. He hadn’t felt shame while he was masturbating. He’d thought only of Molly. He didn’t even feel shame now, afterward. He could only think of Molly.

This was very confusing, indeed.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock spent the whole next day trying to figure out the Molly Mystery. He had never thought of Molly in any sort of sexual way. Sherlock hadn’t thought of anyone in a sexual way in a very long time. For Sherlock, all of his sexual experiences had been things he found shameful.

As a young teen at an all-boys boarding school, there had been fumbling in the dark in the dormitories, as there has probably been for generations. Handjobs, oral sex. Sherlock had always been pretty, and he often found himself the object of the other boys’ affection. There had never been any penetration. This was the mid to late 80’s, after all, and that was too far towards homosexuality for any of them. Not that Sherlock looked at it that way, but he wasn’t interested enough to push for anything more than what was offered. He felt shameful afterwards, the same way he felt shameful for masturbating.

When they got a little older, most of the other boys moved on to girls, and Sherlock moved on to science and what would eventually become his life’s work, leaving pleasures of the flesh as a youthful folly. Over the years he had occasionally masturbated, but it had always carried with it the same shame, something he should hide, something he should know better than to do. Something he shouldn’t need.

He finally asked John to come over. He told John what Molly had done, and then he began to tell John about going to Molly’s flat. “So then I mas…”

John held up a hand. “Yeah, I got it. I don’t need details about THAT.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. If John couldn’t even talk about it, how would he ever figure things out. “Okay, but, it was different. Usually I just … do it. Get it over with, so I can clear my head and get back to work. It isn’t so much pleasurable as a chore that occasionally needs to be performed. But this time I…I thought of Molly. I could see her. All my memories of her from my mind palace. It was over in record time and I..” he paused, swallowing. “I don’t feel guilty about what I did.”

John sighed. “Well, you should feel guilty about breaking into Molly’s flat.”

Sherlock stood, pacing. “She started it. But I meant I don’t feel guilty about...touching myself. I think I might have enjoyed it.”

John rubbed his face, gathering his words. “Sherlock, it’s not uncommon to think about people you know while doing...that. The question is, what will you do now? Do you fancy Molly?”

Sherlock stopped pacing and stared out the window. “As in, would I want to do…things WITH Molly? I mean, I like Molly. I like doing science with her, and working in the lab together, and she’s surprisingly good at deducing things. But I’ve never really thought about doing...that...with anyone.”

“Not even Irene Adler?”

“The Woman fascinated me. She caught my attention like no one had before. But I turned down her offers of ‘dinner’ because I wasn’t interested in what she had to offer.”

“The dominatrix stuff? Or sex in general?”

“I was not interested in having sex with The Woman. I’ve never been interested in having sex with anyone.”

“Well, you obviously are conflicted about Molly. I think you need to decide if you just like thinking about her while you do that, or if it means something more. And this conversation has just gotten way too weird for me. I can’t help you figure out your sexuality, Sherlock. That’s all you.”

They changed the subject, and soon John left. Sherlock found his way into his bedroom. He knew how sex worked with women. He’d seen some porn, he’d read some stuff that seemed more realistic than most porn. He’d just never thought about it in regards to himself. 

Well, there was only one way to find out. He undressed and slid himself into bed, bringing forth a perfect image of Molly in his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock had deduced Molly often enough that he was pretty sure he’d know what she looked like under her clothes. In his mind, Molly stood at the foot of his bed, slowly removing her clothes. Her bright jumper was pulled over her head, and she slowly unbuttoned the shirt beneath it, her eyes locked on his. She made quick work of her bra, and he gazed at her breasts. They were small, yes. He found himself wondering if his estimation of them matched reality. 

Molly reached down and unbuttoned her trousers, letting them fall to her feet. She stepped out of them and then bent to remove her pants, her head tipped up, still watching him. His eyes were locked on her. Once she was naked she slipped over to the side of the bed, looking down at him. Her hand rubbed across his chest as her eyes drank him in. She climbed up onto the bed, positioning herself on her knees, between his legs.

 

Molly reached up and removed her hair from her ponytail and it fell around her shoulders. She looked at him one more time, a shy smile creeping across her small lips. Sherlock’s mind retreated to things he had practical experience with, even if those things were 25 years gone by. Molly dipped her head, taking his cock into her hand and then reaching out with a tongue to taste, to explore.

Sherlock groaned, his hands everywhere on his body. One hand on his cock, gently caressing it, thinking about Molly’s small, steady, doctor’s hands on his cock. His fingers lightly brushing it, imagining her tongue, and then her mouth. His strokes became firmer, more confident as he watched Molly take him fully into her mouth, her tongue swirling around, her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in earnest. Her hair blanketed his thighs - or was that his left hand, stroking his thighs, thinking about Molly’s hair, her hands on his hips, her mouth wrapped around him. Everything was all tangled up and his imagination was doing a very good job. His breath caught, he could feel the pressure building.

And so Molly backed off, sliding him slowly out of her mouth. She grinned up at him, her hair framing her face like a halo. He stilled his hands, waiting for his heartbeat to settle, his mind’s eye watching Molly watch him. His hands moved to his chest, and he could see Molly doing the same, reaching up to caress him, to thumb across a nipple, to run her fingers across his neck. Unable to resist any longer, his hand returned to his straining cock, and Molly took into her her mouth once again, her tongue and lips working it while she held the base, covering every inch of him in pressure and pleasure. It didn’t take long after that before he was grunting in pleasure, spilling over his hand and onto his stomach. 

Normally he would have immediately stood and showered, in a hurry to remove any evidence of what he’d done. Instead, he lay there for a long time, idly stroking his thighs, his mind spinning. This was definitely new information. 

But Molly wouldn’t want to have sex with him without love, without a relationship, would she? It was all fine and good to think that maybe he might want to have sex with Molly. But Molly LOVED him. He couldn’t give Molly what she wanted. He would not be a ...boyfriend. The very word made him shudder. He would not be what John had been to his girlfriends. He couldn’t take her on dates, and watch crap telly with her, and hold her hand. That wasn’t what Sherlock Holmes DID.

And so Sherlock finally stood and showered, and attempted to delete the last few days from his mind palace. What good did this new knowledge do him, when he would still bump up against the fact that he was not a normal man, and could not give Molly what she wanted, even if he was sure she could give him what he wanted.


	6. Chapter 6

Molly Hooper had no idea that Sherlock Holmes had been avoiding her for days, because Molly was used to Sherlock only coming around when he needed something. She hadn’t noticed the break in to her flat, and she went about the rest of the week as she usually did, working her shifts at Bart’s, eating lunch alone in the canteen, and going home at night to Toby, a good book or maybe some telly. 

Friday night, John and Mary invited her round to dinner, and she was excited to have the opportunity to spend some time with them, and with little Amanda. She breezed in the door, kissing Mary on the cheek and smiling at John as she hung up her coat. Following Mary into the sitting room, she went straight to Amanda, laying on the floor with a few toys.

“May I?” she asked, reaching toward Amanda.

“Of course, Molly.” said John, as Mary disappeared back into the kitchen to finish up dinner. 

Molly scooped up Amanda and a few toys and sat on the sofa with her on her lap, cooing at her and watching her reach for the toys. After a few minutes she looked up at John. “So, how are things? I don’t see you nearly as much anymore since you started seeing patients again.”

John smiled. “I do miss the old days, but I need regular income if I’m to support a family! And it’s so nice to be able to work with Mary. Sherlock calls me when he needs me, so it hasn’t been too bad. He tells me about his cases and I still blog about them, even the ones I don’t help with.”

Molly was about to tell John about Sherlock insisting she bring him some toes, but then she remembered what else happened that day, and she blushed and turned her attention back to Amanda. John noticed her flush, and wondered if that was what she was thinking about. He’d spent the last few days trying to forget what he knew about his friend the pathologist, especially given Sherlock’s confusion about the situation.

Finally, curiosity got the better of him. “Have you seen Sherlock lately?”

Molly looked up like a deer in headlights. “Um, no, actually, I haven’t. He asked me to bring him some toes but he wasn’t there when I got there, so Mrs. Hudson let me in and put them in his freezer. He never texted me to thank me for them, but, you know, I don’t really expect anything else from him.” She couldn’t meet John’s eyes while telling her story, choosing to focus on Amanda, instead. 

John realized that he should probably drop the subject, and started asking Molly about Mike Stamford, and eventually dinner was done. They brought Amanda into the kitchen and put her in her high chair, Mary juggling trying to eat her own food and feeding Amanda. 

They shared some after-dinner wine, and soon Molly made her way home on the tube, happy that she’d spent a nice evening with friends. She found herself missing Sherlock, though. She hadn’t really thought about the fact that he hadn’t been around since he asked for the toes, but now that she realized it had been several days, she missed him. She considered dropping by 221B to see how he was, but she was still a little embarrassed about what she’d done. Plus, it was so hard to visit Sherlock now that he lived alone. Being alone with him made her very nervous, and she always said something awkward.

She stayed on the tube until her own stop, and then walked home, telling herself how foolish she was being. Sherlock WAS her friend, even if she wanted it to be something more. She shouldn’t feel bad about wanting to spend time with him. 

Sherlock, on the other hand, had woken up Friday morning determined to find a case. Any case. He had been totally unable to delete his memories of the last few days from his mind palace, but he had managed to put them in the room marked “Molly” and leave them there, even if he had noticed that once again, the room marked “Molly” had gotten bigger. What had started as a storage closet and then moved into a room resembling the morgue had suddenly blossomed into her entire flat. 

So he’d taken a case that was little more than a 5, just to give himself something to do, but of course he’d solved it by the time he’d finished interviewing the couple who had turned up to 221B for their appointment with the consulting detective. He did a little bit of legwork just to be sure (and to keep himself occupied, if he were to be honest with himself, which he most certainly was not being) and by mid-afternoon he was back at the flat, discordian sounds coming from his violin which perfectly matched the discordian thoughts in his head. Mrs. Hudson had come upstairs twice asking him to PLEASE either play something or put it away, but he scraped the bow across the strings while defiantly glaring at her, and she made her way back downstairs again, hunting around for her ear plugs. The second time, she sighed and left the building completely. She decided that going out to the shops was a better way to spend an afternoon. Sherlock having a temper tantrum in a very Sherlock-like way was not something she had the energy (or the ears!) to deal with today.

Sherlock played for a little while longer and finally gave up and decided that maybe another wank would settle his mind. He headed into the shower this time, deciding that he could kill two birds with one stone, and there’d be less clean up.

Afterwards, in a tee-shirt, his pajama bottoms and his favorite dressing gown, he was surprised to find that while PARTS of him were a bit less anxious about the Molly situation, his brain still wasn’t.

He threw himself onto the sofa, staring at the back of it, and had a good sulk, which usually let him feel better. The world was being UNFAIR and all he wanted to do was solve crimes and play his violin and kiss Molly and do experiments.

Kiss Molly?

He unfolded himself off the sofa and went into the kitchen to get the toes Molly had left him earlier that week. Perhaps some experiments would take his mind off the perplexing Pathologist. Something had to, or he was going to go insane.


	7. Chapter 7

Sunday afternoon, Lestrade called Sherlock about a case, and he grabbed his coat and scarf and flew out the door, without so much as a grumble about how boring it would probably be. 

“We’re going to send the body over to Bart’s, so if you need to do any further looking, I’m sure Molly could help you out”, said Lestrade, watching Sherlock staring down at the body. 

“Yes, I’m going to need to use the lab to figure out what this substance is,” Sherlock said, indicating a blue smear on the dead man’s neck. Sherlock was a bit apprehensive about seeing Molly again, but he thought that maybe seeing her in the context of work, and working in the morgue and lab with her would bring things back around to normal again for him. Last week had been anything but boring, but it wasn’t something he could sustain. 

Later that evening he met Molly at the morgue, after the body had been delivered. Molly had it laid out, and had swabbed a sample of the substance. “I could have ran the sample”, she said to Sherlock, handing it to him, “But Lestrade said you wanted to, and I’ve got enough to keep me busy with the autopsy.”

Sherlock nodded and took the petri dish from her, staring at her a bit longer than he should have. Her hair was pulled up into a messy bun, to keep it out of her way as she worked. He glanced at her breasts. Perhaps they were not as small as he’d always teased her they were. His eyes sought out her hands, remembering them around his prick in his imagination. 

“Sherlock?” Molly said. She was used to him zoning out, but she felt uncomfortable under his gaze. “You’re staring.”

Sherlock jerked and looked down at the petri dish in his hands. “Right. I’ll take this to the lab.” He turned on his heel and stalked out of the morgue. Molly watched him go, shaking her head. Trying to figure out what was going on in that brilliant head of his was a lost cause.

“Okay, Mr. Roberts, let’s see if you can tell us anything about what happened to you.” she turned to the corpse on her table and got to work.

Sherlock made up some slides with the blue substance and peered into the microscope. It didn’t take him long to figure out what it was, and soon he was swooping through the halls of St. Bart’s, off to tell Lestrade what he’d found. 

Molly came upstairs later to find the microscope and slides and dish all still out and a mess. She sighed, and texted Sherlock.

Could you at least tell me what you found, so I can put it in my report? - MH

It is fountain pen ink - a very rare one that only the victim’s uncle used. -SH

Thanks. Next time clean up after yourself? -MH

He didn’t respond to that, of course. Molly rolled her eyes and slipped her phone back into her lab coat pocket, and went off to shower and change back into her regular clothes so she could go home. She shouldn’t complain too much - it was her weekend to be on call and only one autopsy had come in that needed her. There would be more on Monday, but this was the only one the police needed.

After her shower she grabbed her phone and handbag out of her locker. She checked to see if Sherlock had texted her again (no), checked the time, and slipped her phone into her handbag and headed outside to go home. At least she’d get home in time to watch some telly before going to bed and getting up and coming back and doing it all over again.

Sherlock had given his results to Lestrade and left New Scotland Yard, walking aimlessly through the darkening London city streets. He wanted tea. He wanted a cigarette. He wanted something that would settle his mind and his suddenly appearing libido. Drugs would do it again, but he knew better than to walk down that path. Drugs for a case was one thing. Drugs when he NEEDED them was a dangerous choice. He settled for a cigarette, dug out of one of the inner pockets of his Belstaff. He stalked the city streets, smoking and thinking and suddenly realizing he’d once again ended up on the steps of Molly Hooper’s flat.

He picked the lock of the main door, but knocked when he got upstairs. He saw the peep hole darken as Molly peered out, and then she opened the door a crack and looked out at him. “Sherlock? Did you figure out something new about Mr. Roberts?”

Sherlock looked at her. Her hair was down, and from what he could see, she had changed into pyjamas, with a dressing gown hastily thrown over them to answer the door. He idly wondered what time it was, he hadn’t even thought to look.

“No. I was in the neighborhood and so here I am.”

“Here you are.” Molly sighed, opening the door wider. “I do have to work in the morning. Would you like tea?”

Sherlock stepped into the flat. “Yes.”

Molly closed the door behind him, tightening her dressing gown around her. “Sorry I’m not dressed, but you did show up unannounced at…” she looked at her watch. “10:30 at night.”

Sherlock took off his coat and tossed it over the arm of a chair. “You are adequately covered. Why are pyjamas not considered dressed? It makes no sense at all.”

Molly bit her lower lip and turned and went into the kitchen. She could have opened the door to Sherlock naked, and he probably wouldn’t notice. A small giggle escaped her then, wondering just what he would have done. He had seen Irene Adler naked, both before and after she was dead. He recognized her from not her face. She shook her head and started the business of making tea.

Sherlock sat down on her sofa, looking around the sitting room more than he had when he was there last week. He noticed some photographs spread around - John and Mary and little Amanda, and some pictures of Toby, and some childhood photos of who he could only deduce were Molly and her parents. Molly had her mother’s little button nose, but those deep brown eyes were definitely her father’s. 

Molly came in with two mugs of tea and set one down in front of Sherlock. She took a seat in one of the armchairs across the room from him. “So, you did not come all the way here for tea. I didn’t even know you knew where I lived.”

Sherlock smirked at her over his mug of tea. “Molly Hooper, I’ve known you for six years. Does it really surprise you that I know where you live?”

“No, I suppose not.” Molly blew on her tea, sipping it. “Still didn’t explain why you’re here.”

Sherlock sipped his tea, watching her. He knew why he was here. He wanted to take her, pull that dressing gown off her body, yank down her pyjama bottoms and fuck her into the nearest wall. 

But Molly Hooper deserved more than that, didn’t she? Her crush on him had faded into an admiration, and she deserved more than being strung along by him. He was fairly sure he could please her, sexually. She’d be happy just to have him touch her, at first. He was a quick learner, he could deduce what she liked and the sex would be amazing.

But eventually it wouldn’t be enough for her, and she’d either stop sleeping with him, or her heart would break and he’d lose her completely. No, he could not love Molly Hooper, but he couldn’t bear the idea of hurting her, either. Not on purpose; he’d hurt her over and over unintentionally. That was part of being Sherlock Holmes, and not understanding people. They’re so sensitive. He’d hurt people intentionally when it suited him, people who didn’t matter to him. 

He briefly considered his options. He could pretend to love her. He’d pulled it off with Janine, and he hadn’t cared for her at all. He knew he could do it convincingly. She’d get tired of him eventually, once she knew what he was like day-to-day, and then he’d have gotten it out of his system and…

...no. He couldn’t lie to Molly Hooper any more than he could use her for his own base desires. 

Meanwhile, Molly had been focused on staring into her mug. It was not unusual for Sherlock to lose himself in his own head, and she’d learned to patiently wait out the silences. He’d come back, when he was ready, with absolutely no recognition of how long he’d been gone. That brilliant mind of his came at a cost, she knew. 

Sherlock continued to stare off into space. Molly sipped her tea. She half expected him to just stand and leave, once he’d worked out whatever he was thinking about, but eventually he blinked, took a drink of his tea, and met her eyes with his.

“I have a problem, Molly.”


	8. Chapter 8

Molly widened her eyes and set down her tea. “What do you need, Sherlock? Are you in trouble again?” She sat forward on her chair, panic filling her small features.

“No, no, it’s okay, Molly!” Sherlock said quickly, realizing that maybe that hadn’t been the way to bring it up. He’d put Molly through so much, during the Fall. He gave her a second to relax a bit, and then looked at her. “You were at my flat last week.”

Molly blanched. “Y-yes. I dropped off the toes you asked for.”

“You didn’t just drop off the toes, Molly.” 

Molly’s mouth dropped open. “Oh God.” She stood and fled into the kitchen, rinsing out her mug and refusing to look back towards the sitting room. Sherlock stood and followed her into the kitchen, awkwardly standing in the doorway, his hands clasped behind his back. Molly turned the water off, but refused to turn around. “I don’t know why I didn’t realize you’d know. Of course you’d know. You know everything. I am so embarrassed. I’m sorry, Sherlock, it was childish and stupid and a total invasion of your space and your privacy.”

Sherlock stepped forward into the kitchen and put a hand on her shoulder. She froze. He tugged at her a little bit, trying to get her to turn around. She did, but immediately covered her face with her hands. “Okay, you’ve made your point.” she said through her fingers. “I did something stupid and you know and you’ve sufficiently embarrassed me about it so can you just leave without making me feel worse? You win. You always win.”

Molly felt the tears filling her eyes. Why had she done something so rash, so stupid? And now Sherlock was going to use it against her forever, because that’s what Sherlock Holmes did, wasn’t it?

“Molly.” said Sherlock, gently. She started to shake, the sobs rising up and threatening to bubble over. “Molly.”

He reached to her and gently pulled her hands away from her face. “Molly.” 

She looked down, and in tilting her head, the tears cascaded out of her eyes and down her face. 

Sherlock closed his eyes. She was crying. How did he always manage to screw everything up? He wanted to tell her so much - how her act had changed the whole way he thought, how it made him realize that he had always seen her, but not really observed her. How the teasing he did about her mouth, her breasts, her body - he saw now that it was because he was denying the reality that he was noticing her mouth, her eyes, her body. How he was fascinated by her body. Yet all he’d done was embarrass her and make her cry.

Opening his eyes, he reached out and cupped one of her cheeks, wiping tears away with his thumb. “Molly Hooper, look at me.”

Molly looked up at him, shaking. “What?”

“You don’t have to cry.”

“People cry when they’re upset, Sherlock. When they’re humiliated and especially when they’re humiliated because it’s their own damn fault.” Anger was boiling up now. Sherlock didn’t even understand why she was upset. He’d come here, embarrassed her, humiliated her, and he didn’t even know what he’d did, because that would involve actually FEELING something.

She swatted his hand off her face and wiped the tears away. “Can you just leave?”

“In a minute. When I’m done telling you what I need to tell you. Then I will leave.”  
“Fine.” Molly pushed past him, out of the kitchen, and threw herself back into the chair she’d been sitting in earlier. “What?”

“I knew what you’d done when I got home that night. I was confused, I didn’t understand why. So, I did the only thing I know how to do when I don’t understand something. I performed an experiment.”

Molly narrowed her eyes.

“I came here, to your flat. While you were at work.”

Molly opened her mouth to scold him, but Sherlock raised a hand. “Let me finish.”

“I didn’t understand why you would do that at my flat, what difference it made. I didn’t think that you were unable to contain yourself until you got home, you know.”

Molly couldn’t resist and giggled at this a little bit. 

“So I came here. To...do what you did.”

Molly looked at Sherlock. “I didn’t even think you…”

“Don’t be silly, Molly. I’m still just a man.”

“Sherlock, you are many, many things. But you have never been ‘just’ anything.” Molly was starting to relax a little bit. He was looking at this as an experiment, it wasn’t even about her anymore, it was about his insatiable curiosity. She almost felt stupid that it would even have anything to do with her beyond the beginning. 

Sherlock nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Point taken. I didn’t think that doing ...that..at my flat would make any difference to you, so I didn’t understand it. So I came..”

Molly stifled another giggle at his word choice. If he noticed, he didn’t react.

“...here to duplicate what you did, to try to deduce why you did it. My results surprised me.”

Molly met his eyes for the first time since this started. 

“As you’ve probably know, I don’t have a lot of experience when it comes to...sexual matters. It took a lot of work to avoid more..intimate contact with Janine while I was pretending to date her. She was trying very hard to be persuasive. I have always found sexual urges to be an annoyance, and if I may be honest, shameful.”

“Sherlock,” Molly said, “There is nothing shameful at all about sex. Not inherently. We bring our own issues and shame to it. Sex is beautiful.”

“So I’m told, but my whole experience in it tells me otherwise. I’ve never had sex, Molly. Not really. Youthful fumblings. I’ve always been more concerned about the work. My work.”

“But here, at your apartment, surrounded by your scent and your belongings and memories of you, I...I enjoyed myself, Molly. For the first time probably SINCE the first time, I enjoyed what I did. I’ve done it multiple times since then.”

Molly nodded. “And that’s..unusual?”

“I’ve masturbated more times this week than I have in the last six years.”

Molly blushed at his frankness, looking down at her hands.

“You’ve awoken something in me that I thought I buried a long, long time ago, Molly Hooper. I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need you.”

Molly squeaked at this, staring at Sherlock. “You can’t mean that.”

“I...don’t know what else to do, Molly. I think about you constantly. I think about touching you, holding you, kissing you. Doing...other things to you.”

“You don’t even LIKE me, Sherlock.”

Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be offended. “Molly Hooper, after all this time, you of all people should know that I like you. I value you. You are important to me. I care about your feelings. What you mean, is that I don’t love you, and in response to that, all I can say is that I do not think I am capable of loving someone in the way you’re thinking. I certainly never have. I don’t even know what romantic love is supposed to feel like. I can’t give you that.”

Molly watched him for a few minutes. “I’m not so sure of that, Sherlock. But I know that you believe that, and as long as you believe that, it’ll be true.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She could have Sherlock Holmes. Right here, right now, he’d be on her in a heartbeat, all she had to do was give him the word, and he would make all of her dreams come true. 

Well, no, he wouldn’t, would he? He still wouldn’t be hers. She would be his. There was a point in her life where that would have been enough. To see him with lust in his eyes for her, to feel him against her. Was that enough now? Would she take what he could give, and not mourn what he couldn’t? That was probably the most of Sherlock Holmes anyone could ever get. And he was quite clearly offering it to her.

She worried at her lower lip, and then looked at him again. He looked like a small child who had asked for an expensive birthday present, and knew he wasn’t going to get it.

Sighing, she stood. “Sherlock, this is all very overwhelming. I’m...flattered. More than flattered. But I think...I think you should leave now, before I do something I might regret.”

His face fell, and it broke her heart to disappoint him. Definitely five years old. “I’m willing to discuss this again. Just not at 11pm on a Sunday night when I have to work in the morning and you’ve just dumped this on me.”

Sherlock stood. “Thank you.”

She gave him a small, awkward smile, and then handed him his coat and scarf, saw him out the door, and then collapsed onto the sofa. What the HELL was she going to do, now?!


	9. Chapter 9

Sherlock took a cab home, texting John.

I told her -SH

Sherlock, it’s late and I’m in bed. What did she say?

She told me to go home and let her think about it. -SH

Well, yes. You don’t just spring that on someone and expect them to fall at your feet, do you?

Molly has always been sexually attracted to me. I thought she’d be happier. -SH

She’s had a long time to get over you, Sherlock. She’s been dating. She was engaged. She’s looking for a relationship.

I told her I couldn’t do that. -SH

Well, then you may end up disappointed. Molly’s not the girl that fell at your feet four years ago anymore, Sherlock.   
I know. -SH

He paid the cabbie when they arrived at Baker Street, and let himself into his flat. He was pursuing Molly. The idea would be laughable, hilarious, if it weren’t true. He curled up in his chair, his head on the armrest, and stared across the flat. Sleep would not be happening tonight. 

Molly spent most of the night tossing and turning in bed. She hadn’t dated since she and Tom broke up, and now Sherlock was offering… what? Friends with benefits? Were they really friends? They were friendly. Was it all a plot? He’d lied with Janine, what would stop him from lying to her? Somehow as her mind spun, she managed to fall asleep into a restless sleep. She woke up before her alarm, staring at the ceiling. Sex with Sherlock? He was a virgin, he’d admitted that to her. What would THAT be like? 

She eventually showered and sent a text to Mary.

Mary, has Sherlock talked to John about...feelings for me?

He told John he was attracted to you, yeah. Did he tell you?

Last night he showed up here at 10:30 at night and started going on about how he couldn’t stop thinking about...being with me. Is he for real??

John seems to think so. 

Okay, thanks.

What are you going to do about it? Are you going to sleep with him?!

I don’t know. I think I want more from him than he can give.

I wouldn’t count on it. Sherlock’s like a overgrown teenager. No one’s ever taught him about feelings and love. I don’t think he’s incapable, just inexperienced. But don’t let yourself get hurt, hon, you’re too good for that.

Thanks. If you hear anything from John, will you let me know? Sherlock’s so hard to read.

Of course, what are girlfriends for? :)

Molly headed off to work, fervently hoping she wouldn’t run into Sherlock at work today. She knew she had a lot to do and work would take her mind off things.

 

Morning found Sherlock still laying in his chair. He’d been thinking all night. He was attracted to Molly. Molly was attracted to him. Why did sex have to be so tied up in LOVE and emotions and relationships? He’d watched John date, that wasn’t what he wanted. He liked doing things with Molly - experiments and autopsies and solving crimes. 

But when Molly was with Tom she talked about how they went to the pub and had dinner with his parents and “normal” things. He couldn’t see himself as that sort of boyfriend; dinner dates and coming home in the evening to watch telly? That wasn’t what he was about at all. How could Molly want that from him? How could Molly have EVER wanted that from him? 

Around lunchtime, he texted her.

Can we talk after work? -SH

Okay. I’ll come over when I leave work. I don’t want to do this at my flat.

Sherlock spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the flat, playing his violin, and resisting the urge to smoke again. He had stopped keeping a supply in the flat now that John wasn’t there to stop him anymore, and the one in his coat was the last he had. So he paced. And looked out the window every five minutes, even though he knew there was no way Molly could get there before 6:00pm. 

Finally, as he was staring down at the street, he saw Molly approach. He leaned out. “Here!” he said, dropping the keys down to her. She missed, of course, and they clattered to the ground. She scooped them up, yelling up “Sorry!” and let herself into the building. He stayed at the window, listening to her walking up the stairs, and turned, just as she pushed open the door to 221B.

“Hello, Molly.”

“Um, hi, Sherlock” she said. She held out the keys to him. He stepped to her, taking the keys and dropping them into his dressing gown pocket.

“Tea?” asked Sherlock?

“Um, sure.” Molly turned to head into the kitchen, but Sherlock stepped in front of her. “I’ve got it.”

“Oh, um, okay.” Molly was clearly very nervous, and Sherlock making tea was odd enough to throw her even more off balance.

Sherlock stopped and turned around, looking at her. “I do know how to make tea, Molly.” 

“Of course you do. You just don’t usually bother if there’s someone around to do it for you.”

“Clearly,” he said slowly, then turned and resumed making his way into the kitchen. Molly stepped towards the couch, peering into the kitchen. She was always a bit nervous drinking or eating anything at Baker Street, since the kitchen usually looked like it needed a hazardous waste warning. Shrugging, she slipped out of her coat and sat down on the sofa. Sherlock and John managed to live there for years and they were both very much alive, so she was probably safe. Probably.

She worried at her thumbnail with her teeth while she waited for Sherlock to make the tea. Finally, he brought her a mug. She took it, smiling up at him. He sat down on the other end of the sofa, looking at her.

“Molly? What is it you want from me?”

“I’d stopped wanting anything from you, Sherlock. You didn’t want me, and then you were gone for two years and I kept your secret. I kept your secret from everyone. I kept your secret from John even though I had to watch him fall apart. It killed me, Sherlock. It killed me to be the only other person on the PLANET that knew you were alive.”

“Mycroft knew. My parents knew.”

“Yes, and your parents come around to the morgue on a regular basis, do they? I had NO ONE. No one to talk to, no one to talk to at night when I wondered if you were still alive, or if you’d die out there and I’d never know. Would Mycroft have told me if you died?” By the end she was yelling, all the pent up frustration of the last three years getting the best of her.

Sherlock sat listening. He knew, if he let himself, that he deserved every bit of anger she threw his way. He’d asked her to do something no one should ever have to do, and she’d done it without a second thought, because she loved him. Is that what love was? Sacrifices and pain, and loneliness and longing?

“Molly, I asked you to do something extremely difficult and terrible, and you did it for me. I fully understand the immensity of what I asked you to do, and you did it faithfully without a second thought. I am incredibly grateful that you did that.”

“Thank you.” she said. “So, I finally start putting my life back together, and I meet Tom, and things are going really well. I mean, he wasn’t YOU, but he loved me and he was nice and we were going to get married and then you came home. You came home and everything I’d managed to bury deep down inside me came right back out again. Your stupid, beautiful face, and your brilliance, and so I threw that away, too. To follow around after you, hoping you’d notice me.” 

She set her tea down. “That was a year ago, Sherlock. I’ve had a year to shove all those feelings back into the box I keep them in. I thought I might try dating again.”

With this she laughed, and looked up at him, into those impossible blue-green eyes. “So what do you do? You waltz into my flat and tell me that you can’t stop thinking about my body. My body,” she snorted, “Of all things of mine I thought you’d notice, Sherlock, my body was last on the list. I thought you might notice how much I loved you, how dedicated I was to you. I thought you might notice how intelligent I am, or that I’m good at my job. But no, it comes down to ...lust. That’s what I get, after six years. You need to slake your lust.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Molly, I…”

Molly shook her head. “I’m not even...I mean, I’m flattered, I meant it when I said that. I am flattered. You are beautiful and amazing and it’s not like I haven’t noticed your body over the years. But I’m more than my body. I need to be more than my body to someone.”

Sherlock nodded. “I know. I knew when I told you. I just didn’t know what else to do, Molly. But I do know that you love me. I do know that you’re dedicated to me - the Fall showed me that. And if I didn’t think you were brilliantly good at your job, I wouldn’t want to work with you as much as I do.”

“Sherlock, have you ever loved anyone?”

Sherlock looked down in his lap. “No? I don’t know? All my life people have used me for what they could get out of me. ‘Solve this mystery, Sherlock’ ‘Deduce me, Sherlock, it’s a fun party game.’ ‘Help me with my problem, Sherlock.’ Mycroft did it, my school chums did it. John was the first person who ever just liked being around me, and never asked me for anything.”

Molly reached out and took his hand in hers. “John. Right there. You can’t tell me you don’t love John. You jumped off that roof for John, and Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson. If you didn’t love them, WHY would you have thrown away your life for them? That’s love, Sherlock, whether you recognize it or not.”

Sherlock looked down at their hands. His skin nearly burned at her touch. He rub a thumb over her knuckles, thinking.

“I would be a rubbish boyfriend, Molly.”

Molly laughed at this. “Yes, you would.”

Sherlock looked up at her, a hurt expression on his face.

“What I mean, Sherlock, is that you would make a rubbish ‘normal’ boyfriend. You’re not going to watch Glee and help someone pick out new sheets and be home for dinner every night at 6:00. But Sherlock? I’ve never thought you would be. I know who you are, I know how you work, I know you’re gone for weeks at a time and don’t sleep for days and you are often a petulant five year old. I KNOW all those things, Sherlock, and I STILL LOVE YOU. And that’s the part you don’t get, the thing you’ve never let yourself understand. The people in your life who care for you? John, and Mary, and Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade and...and me? We know you’re an annoying git.” 

Sherlock tilted his head at this, trying to process. “So, you’re saying that when you wanted to be with me, you wanted to be with...with me. Not some idea of what a boyfriend should be, but you wanted me - with all my flaws? Molly, I have so very many flaws.”

Molly smiled. “Yes, yes you do. But so do I. So does John, and Mary, and every other human being on the planet. But our flaws and our strengths and our weaknesses are what make us all individuals. Everything that makes you Sherlock Holmes is what I fell in love with. Everything that makes you Sherlock Holmes is what makes me unable to move on with my life past you.”

Sherlock tugged at her hand, gently, a question in his eyes. Molly took a deep breath and closed the distance between them, turning her back so she was leaning against Sherlock, who turned and wrapped his arms around her. “Molly Hooper, when will you cease to surprise me?”

She tilted her head up and looked at him. “Never, I hope.”

“So, now what?”

“I think you should take me out to dinner. I’m starving, and some of us have to eat every day. I know it’s a weird concept to you.”

“Like, a date?”

“Like two people who like each other who are having a meal together. If you want to call it a date, go for it. If you don’t, then don’t. But I’m going to call it a date.” She grinned up at him, and he leaned down and kissed the top of her head. 

“Well, then let’s be off.”


	10. Chapter 10

They ended up at Angelo’s, which didn’t surprise Molly at all. Angelo welcomed them into Sherlock’s usual table. He handed over two menus, but Sherlock left his on the table. 

“Not eating?” asked Molly, as she looked at him over the top of her menu. 

Sherlock shrugged. “I’ll just have some of yours, it’ll be enough.”

Molly giggled “What if I don’t want to share?” She raised her eyebrows at him and then ducked her head back down, scanning the menu. Sherlock paused for a moment, trying to decide if she was serious or not, and decided she wasn’t.

Molly ordered some chicken alfredo and a glass of wine, and asked for a second plate for Sherlock. Sherlock asked for water. Molly bit her tongue, trying to leave him alone. If she was going to accept Sherlock as he was, she was going to have to start now.

“Any interesting cases lately?” 

Sherlock shrugged. “A few little ones. Nothing taxing. I was spending considerable time trying to solve my own personal mystery.” 

“Oh - OH.” said Molly, thankful that the waiter had chosen then to show up with her wine. She took a gulp of it, then realized what she looked like and set it down again. “I imagine that’s been very troubling for you.”

Sherlock looked at a spot just over her left shoulder. “It has been. It might still be. But at least there’s progress.” He was very uncomfortable discussing this. Molly reached across the table and patted his hand. 

“We’ll figure it out. Together.”

Sherlock smiled then, one of his rare real smiles that she was only used to seeing when there was a murder around. It was nice to see it in a social setting. 

The food came. Molly moved some of the pasta onto the other plate and put it in front of Sherlock. “I don’t care if you eat it or not, but in case you decide to live dangerously, there it is.” Sherlock nodded, and picked up his fork, moving the noodles around as they spoke about everything except what they were doing here. John and Mary’s baby. The latest gossip at St. Bart’s. The time Sherlock had an entire cake delivered to Mycroft’s office just to mess with him. 

“I didn’t sign the card or anything. Just sent a cake. I got a text 30 seconds after the delivery was made, telling me I was being childish.”

Molly laughed. “Childish, yes. But funny nonetheless.” 

Molly pretended not to notice when Sherlock started eating the pasta, almost without noticing he was doing it. She ate and finished her wine and kept the conversation going. Things were going very well when she laughed at something Sherlock said and dumped a forkful of noodles all down the front of her shirt.   
She excused herself to the bathroom, embarrassed at her mishap. Sherlock pulled out his phone and texted John.

We’re on a date. -SH  
A DATE?   
Yes. Dinner, even. I ate. She’s pretending not to notice. -SH  
Did you guys talk?  
At Baker Street. Not here, just conversation. -SH  
Sherlock? Don’t screw this up.  
I’m trying. -SH

He pocketed his phone as Molly returned to the table. They finished up their food, Sherlock left plenty of money to pay the bill, and soon they were walking outside. Sherlock stopped and turned to Molly. “Should I see you to the tube?”

Molly takes a deep breath. “If you like. It’s early yet, I could go back to Baker Street with you for a little while.”

Sherlock’s stomach flips at this, and he’s momentarily quiet as he processes this. He blinks, and says “Okay.” 

They walk back to Baker Street in companionable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Sherlock unlocks the door and lets them in, and they make their way up the stairs. Sherlock sits down in his chair, and indicates Molly should sit in John’s. “It doesn’t see much action, I’m sure it’s lonely.”

Molly wonders how much of that is the chair, and how much of that is Sherlock missing John. A busy surgery and a baby doesn’t leave much time for adventures, although she knows Mary works hard at giving John time to be with Sherlock. She’s angry at him for having to keep the secret of his Fall from everyone, but she knows he lost a lot of things while he was gone, too. 

She settles herself down into John’s chair and meets Sherlock’s eyes. “How was that?”

Sherlock looks down and picks at an invisible piece of lint on his trousers, considering his answer. “I like spending time with you, talking to you. We share a love of science and learning and I’m sure very few other men appreciate your morgue humor.”

Molly smiles at this.

“Dinner, you know, it’s food. I have to do it occasionally. I much prefer take out here, at the flat, where no one worries about how much of it I eat, although everyone at Angelo’s knows by now that my appetite is not indicative of the food. It’s one of the reasons I try to eat at the same places. They know me.”

Sherlock looks up at meets Molly’s eyes. “But if I have to eat, and eat in public, eating in public with you made it better.” 

He blushes, and looks down again. Molly can see how hard he’s trying, and part of her wants to just go cuddle up to him and let him stop talking. The other part just continues watching him. Seeing Sherlock discomforted is a new thing, and she hates to admit she’s enjoying it.

The subject drifts, again, and soon they are back to science. He tells her about his studies in chemistry, and how he learned very quickly he could teach himself faster than any University could. “My parents were displeased. I was the baby, and Mycroft, being so much older, was already moving up the ranks of public service. They were afraid they’d end up supporting me permanently because I couldn’t get along with anyone. How could I hold a job? So of course, I had to make my own job.”

Molly tells him about how her mother’s death when she was young made her want to be a doctor, but how she realized as time went on that she didn’t want to work with living patients, she wanted to help explain deaths. 

Eventually, it was getting late, and Molly started yawning. Sherlock offered to pay for a cab to take her home, and as she was very tired, she accepted. They walked downstairs, but stopped just inside the door. 

Sherlock looked down at Molly, at her smiling, happy face. He found it hard to believe he had ever done anything to make that face look anything like it looked right now, and he made a promise to himself that he would try very hard not to do it ever again. He knew he’d screw up, but not intentionally. Not any more. 

Molly watched his face, and finally slipped up onto her tiptoes and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.

Sherlock froze as a warm heat cascaded through his body. With a quiet growl, he leaned down, wrapping his arms around her shoulders, and kissed her, hard. She moaned, and opened her lips to him. Tentatively, he snaked a tongue across her lips, tasting, exploring. She met his tongue with hers, and brought it back into her mouth, enticing him to follow her. Their kiss deepened as their tongues danced around each other. Sherlock pressed himself against Molly who slowly backed up until she hit the wall. 

Molly broke the kiss first, staring up at Sherlock. “Where did you learn to kiss like that?” 

Sherlock smirked. “You don’t want to know.”

Molly considered this, remembering Janine. “You’re probably right.”

She wiggled out from between Sherlock and the wall. “Right. Cab. Home.”

Sherlock turned and watched her. “Cab. Yes.”

Molly could see the longing in Sherlock’s eyes. She watched him for a moment. He looked skittish and she couldn’t help but remember that emotionally, he was about 15. With the body of a man who had denied himself basic physical comfort for his entire adult life. He was strung tighter than his violin strings. 

He watched her. For once, he knew when to keep his mouth shut and let someone else think. 

She turned her head and looked at the door. She looked at her watch. She looked back at Sherlock.

“Sherlock…” she started.

“I’m not expecting anything. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

Molly knew that wasn’t quite true, but she knew he wouldn’t push her, no matter what he wanted. She trusted him.

She took a deep breath, glanced at the door one more time, and turned to Sherlock, smiling into those blue eyes. 

Then she turned and walked back up the stairs to the flat, her heart pounding in her chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Sherlock followed Molly back up the stairs to his flat, his pulse pounding in his ears. The last week had been one of the most confusing weeks of his life, but all of it paled in comparison to this moment. Right here, right now. Molly Hooper was headed back up to his flat, and he had no idea what to expect once they got there. 

By the time he walked through the door to the flat, Molly had set her handbag down on the sofa and was standing next to it, watching him come into the room. He turned and closed the door behind him, scolding himself for the way his hands were shaking. 

When he turned around again, Molly had stepped to him, and stood, looking up at him with a soft smile on her face. He closed his eyes, then opened them again, as if to prove to himself that she was really there. She waited, watching him. How on earth did Molly Hooper deduce him better than anyone else ever had? She always knew when he needed to work through something, and was so unendingly patient about it. Looking down at her, he smiled. “Molly Hooper.”

Molly stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his waist, her head upturned so she could watch his face. “Sherlock Holmes.”

They stood there for what seemed like an eternity, as if neither were quite able to figure out where to go next. Their magnificent snog downstairs still reverberated through his body, and he tentatively leaned down, capturing her mouth in a gentle kiss.

She responded, eagerly. They held the kiss for a moment, and then Sherlock opened his mouth, inviting her to deepen the kiss. She did, and soon they were crushed together, body against body, lips against lips. He reached down and took her face in his hands, running his thumbs along her cheeks and savoring every sensation of her body against his. 

Molly broke the kiss. “Let’s go into your room. This will be more fun if we can snuggle.” She took Sherlock by the hand and started towards his bedroom. Sherlock allowed himself to be led, marveling once again that not only did Molly Hooper love him, she STILL loved him, after everything. 

She climbed onto the bed, laying down and motioning for Sherlock to follow her. He stretched out his lanky form on his side next to her, and watched her for a moment. “Molly…” he began. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to collect his thoughts. “Sorry. Give me a second.” 

She smiled and nodded, reaching over and taking his hand in yours. “All the time in the world, Sherlock, although I do have to sleep at some point so let’s not spend too much time.”

He smiled, his eyes still closed. Opening them, he leaned over and kissed her again. “Molly, I am the second most intelligent person I know. This week has made me question that, however. I’ve had to figure out so many things that I just do not understand. A week ago I would have told you I was asexual, I would have argued strenuously that I was aromantic. A week ago seems like a lifetime ago, now that I’m here with you.

“I do not know the answers to those topics. I know that I care deeply for you. I know that your happiness is important to me. I know that I find touching you and being touched by you pleasurable and something I want. I know that you have awoken something in me I did not ever expect to deal with.

“But I also know that I am a terrible person. I am conflicted, and an arsehole, and I can be childish and temperamental and I am, despite my significant progress in avoiding it, an addict. I am moody. I am difficult. In short, Molly Hooper, you do not deserve to be entangled with me any more than you already are. There is no evidence that I will do anything but break your heart more than I already have.”

He trailed off, unsure what else to say. He wanted Molly - God, did he want her. He also knew that he had hurt her so much in the past, and she was opening herself up to being hurt even more, and that scared him. Hurting Molly Hooper scared him more than losing her.

Molly scooted over, tucking herself into his arms, her face level with his. “Sherlock Holmes, I have no doubt that this is probably a bad idea in the long-term, and that I am probably doing something stupid.” She leaned over and kissed him. “But you know what? There’s nowhere I’d rather be. So kiss me with those perfect, perfect lips of yours, and for once in your life, stop thinking.”

She grinned at him then, and then leaned in for another kiss. His hand slowly began to stroke her hip. She smiled around their kiss, and then broke away, trailing kisses down his jaw to his neck. He moaned a low growl. Emboldened, Molly unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, hungry for more of his skin. Her kisses turned to little nipping suckles, and his fingers clenched around her hipbone in reaction. She smiled.

Returning to his mouth, she lifted her hands to his hair, capturing his head between her arms. She kissed him deeply, running her fingers through his unkempt curls and lightly scratching her nails along his scalp. 

Sherlock moved his hands to the small of her back, encircling her and drawing her even closer to him. Their bodies connected with an almost audible electricity. 

“Sherlock, if you’re not okay you’ll let me know; right?” said Molly, breaking the kiss and looking directly into his sea-storm eyes. 

“I’m okay.”

“Just let me know if you’re not.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. Molly almost reluctantly untangled her fingers from his hair, but made it up to herself by reaching down and unbuttoning a couple more of Sherlock’s buttons. She scooted down along his body until she could plant kisses on his upper chest and neck. Sherlock tossed his head back with a moan, giving her full access to his neck. She nibbled and licked and sucked as Sherlock quivered at her touches. His arms were wrapped around her, but he found he had no idea what he wanted to do with them. He rubbed at her back, his brain spinning. 

Molly unbuttoned the rest of his buttons, gently pulling his shirt out of his trousers and pushing it open. She sighed happily and moved back up to his face, peppering his face and mouth with tiny kisses as her hands gently explored his chest.

Sherlock closed his eyes, completely overwhelmed with the sensations assaulting him. He brought his hand from over top of her hips to her stomach, nervously playing with the hem of her shirt. Molly smiled at him, placing a kiss on his lips before she took his hand and gently slid it under her shirt, onto her stomach. Sherlock froze for a moment, then started gently rubbing his thumb along the skin, watching her, deducing whether or not he was doing things right. 

When he boldly slid his hands up, just under her breasts, she closed her eyes and moaned. He nervously reached up to brush his hands across a nipple, feeling how hard it was even through her bra. At that she gasped, and kissed him again, hard. He moved to the other nipple, exploring, touching, feeling her various muscles tense under his hands. He returned her kiss. 

After a few moments, Sherlock moved his hands back to her waist and gently pushed her back, away from him. She met his eyes. “Sit up,” he said, his voice low and husky.

She did, and he sat up as well, turning so they both sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, watching each other. Reaching over, he pulled her shirt over her head, biting his lips as her chest came into view.

He reached over, running a finger down one breast. “I was wrong.”

“What’s that?” said Molly, grinning.

“I was wrong.”

“About what?” she said, in a teasing, sing-song voice. “What could the great Sherlock Holmes POSSIBLY have been wrong about?”

Sherlock smirked at her and leaned over, freeing one breast from the top of her bra cup and immediately capturing it in his mouth. After he’d nibbled and licked on it for a few moments, he looked up at her. “They’re not too small. They’re perfect.”

Molly smiled, and reached behind her, unhooking her bra. Sherlock pulled back and let it fall away, down her arms, his eyes locked on her breasts. “Oh.”

Molly smiled, and turned and slid back down on the bed, reaching out and pulling him to her. He moved on top of her, one knee between her legs as he bent to capture a nipple in his mouth again. She moaned. “Oh, Sherlock…”

He lost himself for a few moments, hands and mouth moving back and forth between nipples. Molly watched him, her fingers softly playing with his hair. She yelped when he bit a little too hard, and his head swung up in alarm. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, Sherlock. Everyone’s different, you’ll learn.”

“Don’t wanna learn everyone. Wanna learn Molly.” he murmured, his lips returning to her nipple. 

Molly was pretty sure her heart should have burst right there, it began pounding so hard.

After a few more moments she tugged him up to kiss her, his long body stretched out over hers. He moved to kiss her neck, her shoulders, trailing kisses down one shoulder and then across to the other and back up again. 

Molly squirmed beneath him, struggling with restraint. She wanted him. She wanted him more than she ever thought she could want him, and that was after years of wanting him. She wanted to throw caution to the wind and take him, hard, years of pent up want exploding out of her all at once.

“Sherlock”, she whispered, watching him. He stopped and looked up at her, his eyes filled with something she’d never seen before. Hunger. “Do you want to touch...me?” she asked, tentatively. “Or me to touch you? Or…” she trailed off, frustrated with herself for being so indecisive. Had this been anyone else, she’d have been confident, she’d know what she wanted and how to please a man. But she had no experience at all that told her how to please Sherlock Holmes. And neither did he.

Sherlock considered this for a moment. “I want so very, very many things.” he said, kissing her. “But I’m terrified.”

Molly wrapped her arms around him. “We can stop, if you want,” she said, sending up a prayer that he didn’t say yes. Oh god, why did she have to be so responsible?

“No,” said Sherlock. “I don’t want to stop.” He sat up on his knees, one of her legs still pinned between his legs, his weight lightly resting on it. “I want everything, and nothing, and you, and ...oh Molly. I am so afraid I’ll disappoint you. Here in bed, out there, in the world.”

Molly took one of his hands in hers. “Sherlock, I can’t predict the future. But I assure you, your lack of experience will not disappoint me. We’ll figure this out together, and it will be fine.”

Sherlock looked down at their hands together and smiled shyly at her. “Perhaps, then...perhaps you could touch yourself? That’s how all this started. Let me watch, and learn, and then…”

Molly smiled up at him. “I think that’s a very good idea.”

Sherlock moved over next to her and leaned down, kissing her. Molly took a breath and wiggled out of her trousers and pants. She was so nervous, and she could tell he was too, by the way his eyes never left her face, even after she had everything off.

She smiled at him. “I think if I am going to be naked, then it’s only fair if you are, too.” Sherlock startled at this, and turned and looked down the length of her body. “Um, yes. Quite.” He placed a kiss on her her lips and scooted to the edge of the bed, standing up.

Molly watched him as he slid his shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the ground. She caught her breath as his hands moved to his belt buckle, unbuckling it and unbuttoning his trousers quickly. He looked at her again, and she nodded. His trousers and pants slid effortlessly down his lithe frame, and soon Sherlock Holmes was naked in front of someone for the first time since Janine. 

Molly smiled, and reached her arms out to him. He curled up next to her, his body pressed against hers. It felt better than he could have ever imagined. He felt his erection press against her hip, and clumsily apologized, squirming nervously.

“Sherlock, don’t ever apologize for being attracted to a woman who is naked in bed with you.” Molly smiled. Sherlock blushed, and Molly scooted up to sit against the large headboard. Sherlock licked his lips, and sat up, positioning himself between her legs. Molly pulled her knees up, her feet flat on the bed, and smiled softly at Sherlock, who was drinking in the lovely view of Molly’s most private parts. 

Without thinking, he reached a hand out, running his fingertips along the curls just above, comparing the sensation to the shaved area below. Molly gasped as his fingers absentmindedly brushed over her clitoris. Sherlock looked up, sharply, and moved his fingers back. Molly grinned at him. “I think maybe you’ll be able to figure this out on your own, Sherlock.”

Sherlock moved back enough to lay on his stomach, his hands outstretched to explore Molly. He looked up and smiled at her, and began to stroke, and rub, and explore. When one cautious finger slid inside her, Molly gasped in pleasure. Sherlock slid a second finger in next to the first, and found her clit again with his thumb. He made slow, lazy circles with his thumb as he moved in and out of Molly, adjusting pressure and speed as he watched her reaction, her breathing becoming faster. 

Molly was loving what Sherlock was doing, but it was new to him, and she realized after a few moments he was not going to be able to finish her off. She bit her lip, and reached down. “Stay inside me, just what you’re doing, that’s perfect.” She nudged his thumb out of the way and slid her hand down, using two fingers to stroke herself. Sherlock concentrated on watching what she was doing while continuing to fill her with his fingers. It didn’t take long before their combined efforts had Molly grasping the duvet with her other hand, a loud growl turning into a scream as she came, her eyes locked on the man perched between her legs. She slowly moved her hand away, and reached for Sherlock’s hands, pulling him on top of her. 

They kissed, and then Sherlock laid his head down on her chest, listening to her heartbeat slow down.

“Was that good?” he whispered. 

“Yes, Sherlock. It was very good.”

“Good.”

They snuggled and kissed for a few moments, and then Sherlock nuzzled her ear. “I do have condoms here, you know.”

Molly moaned. “Get one.”

Sherlock leaned over to the bedside table and fumbled around, finally removing the foil packet and dropping it beside them on the bed as he returned to kissing Molly. “I bought them when I thought I might need them...before. But I didn’t.”

Molly reached over and picked it up, nudging Sherlock up off her enough so she could use both hands to open it. She removed it, and then smiled at him. “You sure?”

“No, but there’s no one I’d rather be not sure with.” he said, sitting up. Molly sat up and reached between his legs, running her fingers along his length. He hissed, and said “Molly, please. I’m barely hanging on as it is, this is all so much.”

She smiled, and rolled the condom down his length. “Lay down.” she said, moving out of the way. His eyes widened, but he did as he was told. Molly climbed atop him, straddling him so that his length ran between her legs. She bent down to kiss him, watching his face. “Ready?”

“Yes,” he said, his eyes glassy. Molly sat up a bit, reached between her legs, and slowly guided him inside of her.

Sherlock’s eyes rolled back in his head as he felt Molly’s heat envelope him. She began to slowly slide him in and out as she watched his face. His hands fluttered up to her hips and he struggled to watch her face. He started out trying to catalog all of the sensations and feelings and emotions but quickly found that his mind went blank in a way that previously only work or drugs had been able to do - he had a single focus, and that was Molly’s body and what hers was doing to his. It was his whole world, and nothing else existed except Molly. Molly, Molly… 

His orgasm took him by surprise, and he grunted as he clutched Molly’s hips and stared up into her smiling face. She lifted herself off of him, removing the condom and tying it off before dropping it into the wastepaper basket next to the bed. Sherlock moved to get under the covers, reaching for Molly as she moved closer to him. He pulled her under the covers with him, spooning her from behind with his face pressed to the top of her head. “Molly. My Molly.”

Molly Hooper fell asleep in Sherlock Holmes’ arms, a smile on her face.


	12. Chapter 12

Molly woke up in the dark, momentarily disoriented by her surroundings. It took her a moment to realize where she was, and when she rolled over, she discovered she was alone. She stood, and fumbled on the floor until she found Sherlock’s shirt, and slipped it on. Buttoning a few buttons, she made her way down the hall to the sitting room.

Sherlock was in his chair, dressing gown wrapped around him. He was tapping away furiously at his phone, but he looked up when she came in. “It’s early yet, Molly. Get some more sleep. What time do you need to be up?”

Molly made her way over to him. “Um, seven. What time is it?”

Sherlock looked down at his phone again. “4 o’clock.”

Molly leaned over, nervously testing the water for a kiss. He looked at her for a moment, before he realized what she was doing, and then tipped his head up, giving her a quick peck. “Sleep, Molly. I’ve had plenty but I know you need more.”

Molly nodded, and made her way back to the bedroom, crawling into the bed still wearing Sherlock’s shirt.

Sherlock watched her go, admiring how his shirt managed to hug her in all the right places. It took him a few minutes to focus back on the email he was writing, but eventually he managed. 

At 7:00 on the dot Sherlock stood in the doorway to his bedroom, watching Molly Hooper sleep. He finally stepped into the room, calling out her name softly. “Molly...Molly.” He reached over and nudged her on the shoulder softly. 

Molly’s eyes fluttered awake, and with the daylight came the memory of last night. “Oh, hi, Sherlock, thank you. Mind if I use your shower?” She barely waited for a response before quickly slipping out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Sherlock stood in the bedroom, looking at the closed bathroom door. Molly seemed nervous, and skittish. He wondered if she regretted last night. Shaking his head, he threw on some clothes and ducked down to Speedy’s.

When Molly got out of the shower she put yesterday’s clothes back on. Luckily, she kept spare scrubs in her locker at work. Hopefully no one would notice she came in in yesterday’s clothes, although she had to admit she almost relished the idea of being able to say she’d spent the night at Sherlock Holmes’ flat. Grinning, she stepped into the sitting room to find Sherlock walking back in the door with two coffees and a small bag.

“I got you coffee. And a bagel.” He held them out to her.

Molly took them from him and then scooted in closer. “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

Sherlock looked down at her. “I had a nice time last night.” he said quickly and nervously. Molly visibly relaxed.

“Oh, good. I was worried you’d think you made a mistake.” She shifted the coffee and bag into one hand and reached up, pulling his head down by the back of his neck. Kissing him soundly, she turned to grab her handbag off the couch.

“So, I’ll just be going to work, then. Talk to you soon?” she looked at him nervously.

“That you will, Molly Hooper.” he said in his slow, deep baritone. 

“Okay, bye!” she said, walking out the door of the flat. Sherlock turned and sat down at his laptop, ready at last to get some serious work done, now that things were moving along with Molly. 

 

When the door to her lab opened later that morning, Molly turned, expecting it to be Sherlock. It must have shown on her face, because Mary Watson stood there, grinning at her. “Expecting someone else?”

Molly blushed and set down what she was working on, slipping her gloves off. “Oh, hi, Mary. Um, a little bit, maybe. Some.”

“Well, I heard you didn’t go home last night.”

“Oh?”

“A little bird told me!” Mary said, pulling up a chair at the table next to Molly. “A little bird named John Watson, who may have gotten a frantic text at 6 o’clock this morning.”

Molly paled. “Frantic?”

“Well, Sherlock said he had to wake you up soon and he was afraid you’d regret last night, and what should he do to make your morning easy and whatnot.”

“Oh.” said Molly “That explains him running out to get me breakfast.”

Mary smiled. “Yes. John told him that you had farther to travel to Bart’s than you would from home, so he should make sure you got something to eat, that you’d appreciate it.”

“I did.” said Molly. She then giggled and looked at Mary. “Oh, Mary, it was ...well, it was awkward, let’s be honest. But it was lovely. He’s a quick learner.”

Mary looked at her for a moment, “I’m glad you’re happy, Molly. I like Sherlock, I’ve liked him since I met him. I’d kill him if I had to be in a relationship with him, but I’m very happy that you two have found something that works.”

Molly smiled at her friend. “Thank you. I don’t know if this will work, or how long it will last, or what ‘this’ is, but right now I’m pretty happy.”

“I think we should get lunch to celebrate. And not from the canteen. Let’s go get a proper lunch!” Mary jumped to her feet. “I have the day off, Amanda’s at the creche, John’s working and we deserve lunch!”

Molly smiled, and stood. “Sounds like a fabulous idea.”


	13. Chapter 13

Six months after their first date, Sherlock and Molly were curled up in his chair, Molly laying across his lap reading a book, Sherlock with one arm under her and one arm holding his phone, which he was furiously one-thumb typing on. It was a common sight in 221B - the detective and his pathologist, busy with their own things, but clutched together as if they couldn’t bear to be apart. Mrs. Hudson had learned to knock before coming in when she knew Molly was there, because they were not always good at making it into the bedroom before things got heated.

“Molly?” said Sherlock, setting his phone down on her abdomen. 

Molly looked up from her book. “Hmm?”

“Can you make tea? I’d love some tea right now.” He gave her his best puppy-dog eye look. Molly rolled her eyes and sat up, swinging her legs down to the floor. She turned and kissed him, briefly. 

“Only because you’re so cute.”

“I was counting on that.” said Sherlock, smirking. Molly playfully swatted him as she stood up, stretching. 

“Tea actually sounds nice.” She made her way into the kitchen, pulling the tea tin down from its spot on the shelf. She opened it, not really paying attention, and reached in to grab the spoon she knew was in there.

Her hand closed around something much bigger than the spoon, however. It was a small box. Peering in, she lifted it out and stared at the small velvet box. Then she turned to Sherlock, realizing he was now standing in the doorway of the kitchen. She looked at Sherlock, then back into the tin, and slowly brought the box out.

Sherlock smiled at her and pointed to the box. “Are you going to open it?”

Molly stood, frozen. She looked at Sherlock again. He was standing, hands clasped behind his back, but she could see he was nervous. 

“Did you..is this..what?”

Sherlock stepped to her, standing behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “Open the box, Molly Hooper.”

Molly slowly opened the box, gasping when she did. A beautiful amethyst and diamond ring, princess cut in a channel setting, glittered up at her. She looked up at Sherlock, who leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead. “Doctor Hooper, will you marry me?”

Molly spun around, clutching the box between herself and Sherlock as she stood on her tip toes to kiss him. “Of course I will!” 

Sherlock reached between them and plucked the box out of her hand, removing the ring and sliding it onto her finger. “I wanted something you could wear under your gloves at work.” he said, kissing her hand as the ring found it’s new home. 

Molly stepped back and held her hand up, watching the ring glitter and shine under the fluorescent lights of 221B’s kitchen. “It’s perfect, Sherlock.”

Sherlock smiled down at his pathologist, then took her by the hand and led her by the hand into the bedroom, where they celebrated their engagement for the rest of the afternoon.


End file.
